Angels in Flight
by Ophelia Calhallow
Summary: Prequel to 'Fallen Angel'. Pre-war. Personally, I don't think this is angsty enough. But that's just me.


Angels in Flight  
  
Prequel to 'Fallen Angel'.  
  
I have been given  
  
One moment from heaven  
  
As I am walking  
  
Surrounded by night,  
  
Stars high above me  
  
Make a wish under moonlight.   
  
On my way home  
  
I remember  
  
Only good days.  
  
On my way home  
  
I remember all the best days.  
  
I'm on my way home  
  
I can remember  
  
Every new day.  
  
I move in silence  
  
With each step taken,  
  
Snow falling round me  
  
Like angels in flight,  
  
Far in the distance  
  
Is my wish under moonlight ON MY WAY HOME, by Enya  
  
It had begun, as so many things do, with a pair of eyes meeting across an empty room, on a summer day in Diagon Alley. A young boy with untidy black hair was left in Madame Malkins by his minder, a large half-giant, while another boy of the same age waited patiently inside, left there by his father.  
  
There were many similarities between the boys; they were both famous, rich, and unhappy at home. But while the first boy knew his parents to be brave and strong, parents who had died to save him, the second boy knew his father to be a supporter of evil, a cruel man who killed everything his son ever loved.  
  
But the second boy had been brought up by this same man, and so could no more defy him than he could fly without magic. Neither knew the other, so they could not know that they were destined to be enemies. The second time they met, the second boy had been told to either recruit the black-haired boy as a follower, or become his enemy.  
  
The second time they met, the second boy hardened his heart and chose to hate, while the first boy hated him simply because he did not bother to know.  
  
And so they lived for six years, one choosing to hate, although he knew he did not really want to, the other blindly hating.  
  
But in their sixth year.  
  
It was winter; the snow was falling; Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had detention together. Harry's many friends had sympathised with him, told him to look after himself, to protect himself against the Slytherin.  
  
Draco had no real friends to complain to, although he probably wouldn't have complained anyway. His father had once locked him in a dungeon for complaining. Pansy Parkinson slobbered over him while he stared into the fire, thinking of what could have been. Then he stood up and walked to the Great Hall without saying a word to anyone.  
  
"Hello, Malfoy," Harry said flatly when he reached him. Draco ignored him; there was no point in getting provoked just because Potter wanted him to.  
  
Harry studied the other boy for a moment. The boy whose father supported Voldemort. The boy who called Harry's friends mudbloods. The boy who hated Harry. "Do you hate me?" Harry asked suddenly, without knowing why he said it.  
  
Draco's head jerked up and he stared at Harry. It took him a moment to recover himself. "Are you stupid, Potter?" he asked in his usual drawling tones. "No," Harry reddened slightly. "I just wanted to know." Draco looked away. "You shouldn't ask me, because then I have to answer. And my answers are reported." Draco shut his mouth, aware that he had said too much.  
  
"There's no one here to listen." Harry said quietly. "I'm listening," Draco said simply. "So do you hate me or not?" "I think," Draco said bitterly. "That I can only hate, but most of my hate is reserved for my father. So no, compared to my father, I don't hate you. But I have no choice."  
  
Harry was about to say more, but then Filch came up and the moment was lost. During detention, Draco refused to meet Harry's eyes. Then for days, Harry thought about what Malfoy had said, then, late one night, when the snow fell thicker than ever, he slipped out of bed and dressed, then crept down to a door under cover of his invisibility cloak.  
  
Down by the lakeside, a lonely figure stood, his head bowed and his cloak wrapped around him. Harry stood behind him and reached out a hand to tap him on the shoulder. But before he made contact, Draco Malfoy turned to face him. Harry lowered his hand and looked up into Draco's grey eyes, searching for a silent answer to his unspoken question.  
  
"I'm listening now." Harry said after a moment. Draco held his gaze for a second. "And what do you want to listen to?" Draco whispered harshly. "I want to know: Do you hate me?" "I can only hate." "You mean that you can only hate your father. I'm not your father, and- neither are you." Draco was silent, but when he finally spoke his voice was calm.  
  
"I am everything Slytherin hopes for. You are everything Gryffindor hopes for. We are opposites, Harry. Nothing can help that." Draco turned away and gazed out at the lake again.  
  
"You called me Harry." Draco tensed. "I know a lot about you. Everyone is this school does. But not even Crabbe and Goyle know me. Or my father." "I know your father is a Death Eater." "He's near the top. Because Voldemort has always respected the Black and the Malfoy families. My aunt especially. You remember my aunt? The one who killed your godfather?" Harry breathed in sharply.  
  
"Don't you ever talk about Sirius- you don't- you." Harry trailed off, his words lost. "Harry, I don't hate you. You don't hate me. But what is going to happen if we, the school rivals, are seen to be friends? For you, it will be fine; You are Harry Potter, you can do no wrong, if I am your friend then there must be more to me than they can see. but for me, there will be no acceptance. Not from my father, not from my house. I will be killed."  
  
"I don't think I'm suggesting we be just friends!" Harry burst out. Draco jerked his head around to face him, his expression blank. After a shocked moment, he turned and walked swiftly along the lake edge and disappeared behind a clump of trees. Harry raced after him, almost falling in the snow. Just before he reached the trees, he tripped over a root and fell.  
  
He had expected to crash facedown into the freezing snow, but instead someone caught him, held him up, and he fell against them. "Damn," Harry said to no one in particular. "I think I've sprained my ankle." Draco dragged him into the clearing beyond the trees, and sat him down on a tree stump. He picked up Harry's ankle and examined it closely.  
  
"Yes," he said after a pause. "Yes- I can definitely assure you." "What?" "That I haven't a clue what I'm doing." Harry laughed, his ankle forgotten. "You can be funny," He said triumphantly. Draco glanced up at him. "But I can't be your friend." Harry's face fell, but then he smiled. "What about.?" Draco regarded him for a few seconds, and then a grin spread across his face. Harry was struck at how much Draco's face changed when he smiled; although he always looked like an angel, when he was happy he looked like he had come straight form heaven. Harry reached out a hand and touched Draco's cheek, unable to resist the beauty.  
  
"Harry," Draco said calmly. "I'm freezing to death. Now is not the time to admire my face, handsome as it is." He stood up gracefully and sat down on the stump by Harry. "What does this mean, then?" Harry asked. Draco sighed and tipped his head backwards, looking up at the dark sky above.  
  
"I think." he began. "I think that I would like to just go to sleep." Harry glared at him. "Not what I meant. Meant that- that- oh, who cares?" Harry's brain suddenly felt too deprived of sleep to function. Draco smirked at him. "Sounds like you need to sleep, too," Harry leant his head on Draco's shoulder and closed his eyes. "Harry," Draco said. "I think the sun's coming up."  
  
"No it's not," Harry said without opening his eyes. Draco stood up, and Harry's head fell onto the tree stump. "Ow," he said resentfully. "That hurt." Draco glanced around at him, a half-smile on his face. "Get up, Harry." He reached out a hand and pulled Harry to his feet. Harry smiled at him. Draco tried to stop a grin reaching his face, but his lips still twitched. Harry reached up a hand and touched Draco's lips. The blond boy jerked away and moved back a few steps, avoiding Harry's eyes.  
  
"Draco," Harry said quietly. "You can't just pretend that you have no feelings for me." When Draco didn't answer, Harry studied his perfect face for a long time. Draco avoided his eyes for a moment, and then yanked his gaze to meet Harry's. He almost smiled, and then he laughed softly, and it was then that Harry first realized that this was the first time he'd ever really connected to anyone.  
  
Hermione and Ron were just friends, and they were far more interested in each other, even if they didn't know it. Seamus, Dean, Neville, Parvati, Lavender- just people he knew. The adults in his life were either distant and sensible- Dumbledore, Lupin- irresponsible- Tonks- or just too evil- Voldemort, Snape.  
  
But in Draco's grey eyes, he saw something he'd never even knew he'd been missing. Harry knew that Draco would do anything for him, and Harry would do the same without thinking, because it would just happen naturally.  
  
"Are you alright?" Draco asked quietly. Harry jumped and smiled hesitantly. "I'm fine- but can you please just give me a serious answer? For once?" Draco considered this, his face blank. "What are you afraid of?" Harry persisted. "That you'll lose your reputation with the Slytherins? That you won't be Mr Popular anymore? I've got news for you, Draco. You've never done anything good in your life, you're selfish, spoilt- the perfect Slytherin." Harry spat the words at him, his face growing red with anger. Draco was shocked for a moment, although only his eyes showed it, and then he nodded slowly.  
  
"You're mostly right, Harry." Harry started and realised what he had just said. "No." he began, but Draco cut him off. "I have never done anything I'm proud of. Until now." Then he leant forward and kissed Harry gently, wrapping his arms around him.  
  
Love can be passionate, beautiful, romantic, forbidden, and so much more. This is all of those things. Good and evil, black and white, Gryffindor and Slytherin. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Gryffindor hero and Slytherin snake. Doomed to a Romeo and Juliet existence, and when Voldemort comes knocking who will turn to who? One Year Later.  
  
It was after midnight before Harry came back. Draco was still waiting for him in their room at 12 Grimmauld Place, staring into the fire. "You're late," Draco said distantly as the door banged shut. "I am." Harry's voice was steady yet Draco sensed that something was different. He turned to face his lover, and a shiver ran down his spine as he saw the look in Harry's eyes. Cold and sinister, words Draco had never thought would ever be associated with Harry Potter.  
  
"Harry? What's wrong?" he asked warily, taking a few cautious steps towards Harry, who stepped away. Draco moved closer, his thoughts coming to a horrific conclusion. The look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, his pale face. "Harry," Draco said flatly. "Show me your arms."  
  
Harry jumped, obviously shaken. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word Draco leapt forward and pulled up the sleeves of Harry's' ragged shirt. What he saw cut through his heart and soul like a knife, for there on the arm of Harry Potter was a hideous black skull, the Dark Mark of Voldemort. Draco moved away, breathing sharply.  
  
"Draco." Harry began. "I don't want to hear it, Potter," Draco spat at him. "Talk about irony. You save me from darkness only to fall yourself." Harry grinned like a skull, with no joy. "You can't stop loving me." Draco looked straight into Harry's emerald eyes, and concentrated on his thoughts. What if he joined Harry? Thousands would die- his mother, Hermione, Ron, Ginny. Ginny loved him.  
  
Draco forced himself to think about Ginny, her fiery hair and nature, the way she looked at him. They way he could see her. He clenched his fists and hardened his heart into stone.  
  
"I can choose to stop loving you, Harry. I don't have to feel this pain." Harry's face twitched. "You can never stop loving me," Draco turned away and moved towards the fire, picking up the floo powder and grabbing a handful. Just as he was about to go, Harry spoke, his voice choked.  
  
"My angel." he whispered. Draco didn't look back. Those, he promised himself, would be the last words Harry spoke to him until Harry came back.  
  
It never even occurred to Draco that Harry might not return.  
  
Fallen angels can't climb back up and beg forgiveness. That's why they fell. 


End file.
